#implied and one sided

[xreaderwrites]

Where Is She?

AO3

Pairing: Thirteenth Doctor & Reader, Implied Thirteenth Doctor x Yasmin Khan, Missy & Reader

Summary: You’re on the hunt for Missy and the Doctor was the last to see her.

Tags: Reader is a Time Lord, Jealous Reader, Humor, messing with the Doctor, someone give Yaz a break

Authors Note: Writing Yasmin instead of Yaz is so strange.

You saunter into the Doctor’s TARDIS with your hands in your pockets and an easy smile. Your gaze wanders over the place. You haven’t seen this iteration before, or the Doctor’s new face, and find it quite amusing. It’s pretty, in a way, but Missy would have a few choice words about the spider legs and what they’re squatting over.

The Doctor and one of her companions are bent over the console, shoulder to shoulder with their backs to the door. Your search for any stragglers but it’s just the two of them. You can’t see the companions face but you guess she’s pretty like all the rest. You imagine Missy’s response but that image is crushed by the realisation that eyebrows is probably trying get her to ‘work on her jealousy’. Boring.

You whistle a sharp note.

The Doctor spins around, always on her toes, while her companion turns with wide eyes.

“Oh,” the Doctor’s gaze flickers around you but there is no Mistress to be found, “Hello,” she says with false cheer, “Been a while.”

“Sure has,” your eyes slide over to her companion, “fresh meat?”

The Doctor’s smile turns tight. The girl, sensing the Doctor’s tension, decides to step in.

“Officer Yasmin Khan. And you are?”

You raise both eyebrows, “Officer? My, my, how times have changed.”

“Doctor, who is this?” Yasmin Khan asks.

“Oh, Doctor,” you grin at her, “you and your humans.” Yasmin inches closer to her Doctor, who you never take your gaze off, “Miss me?”

“Yaz, this is…an old acquaintance of mine,” The Doctor says, her gaze calculating. Her arm is stuck out to keep Yaz behind her and you’re pretty sure she’s inching towards the console behind her. 

Rude. 

“Acquaintance? Doctor, you wound me,” you put a hand to your heart as you step closer. “What happened to all the good times together? All the running and dancing and blowing things up?”

“I think you’re confusing me with someone else,” she says. You click your tongue.

“Doubtful.”

“The Master doesn’t sound familiar to you?”

“Mistress,” you hiss, “And you know full well the Mistress doesn’t run. She’s much too elegant.”

“So you haven’t seen her new face then,” The Doctor’s eyes scan you like she can see the answer but you don’t feel any poking around in your head.

“No,” you frown, “She went AWOL,” you eyes slide to her, “and I’m not talking about when you trapped her in that little dungeon of yours.”

“Dungeon?” Yasmin breaks in. You ignore her.

“She went on one of your little trips and never came back,” the smile is long gone from your face, “Where did she go?”

The Doctor tries to look casual but utterly fails, “How do you know she never did? You know how fickle the Mistress can be.”

“Not with this,” you bare your teeth and take two steps closer, they’ve already hit the console, “Not with me.” You hate the way your voice cracks. “She was getting better, whatever human thing you were doing to her was working. And then she disappeared.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t working. She made the same choice she’s been making for thousands of years.”

You choke on a laugh, “You have got to be kidding, Doctor. That game ended years ago. She wanted you by her side. Was everything with Clara not enough to show you that?” You ignore the look on the Doctors face at that name, but not Yasmins, “She chose you. You and that stupid box. I sucked it up because she wanted to be happy, for once. Actually happy.” You take a deep breathe that absolutely does not help, “You know she got a human companion?”

The Doctor blinks.

“I was right there and she got one of your favourite fragile species to care for.”

“And where are they now?”

You wave a dismissive hand, “Where are yours?” The Doctor’s mouth tightens. You grin.

“It didn’t work out, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. But that was before your whole,” you waggle your fingers at her, “million step plan for getting the Mistress back on track.”

“I don’t know what happened,” her jaw is doing that clenched thing that Missy oh so loved. You kind of get it in this face. “I didn’t see her regenerate. He just turned up with a new face, like he always does.” Her hand is reaching towards a lever that will be wildly annoying and mildly inconveniencing, but you notice Yasmin isn’t holding on to anything.

“I don’t remember asking about her regenerating,” that sharp smile is back in place, “In fact, I never want to think about it. Answer me, or,” your eyes slide deliberately to Yasmin, “things are about to get ugly.”

The Doctor’s hand slams on a level and the TARDIS tilts sharply to one side. You try to balance on your toes but you’ve never quite been able to beat mavity and you slide down towards the TARDIS doors. You were able to steady yourself enough not to fall into an ungracefull heap. In fact, you did it so well that you managed to snag Yasmin, who was neither hanging on to something nor prepared and therefore falling rapidly, on your way down.

The Doctor, dangling from the TARDIS console in that comical way of hers, slams her hand on a shiny button and the TARDIS doors swing shut seconds before you both fall out of them.

You grin up at her as you wrestle Yasmin into your arms. She was stunned by the sudden fall but starts to struggle the moment her slow human brain makes the connection arms equals trapped. 

You kick the doors back open and bring Yasmin to the edge to stop the Doctor shutting them again. Yasmin freezes as she sees just how high up the TARDIS is. The Doctor immediately evens out the TARDIS.

A background thought wonders if Yasmin realises the drop would kill you or if she just assumes the Doctor would make it a liveable height for your species. Or maybe she knows about regeneration and doesn’t realise it’s seriousness. 

You don’t want to regenerate right now. It hurts like a bitch. You don’t have many in you left. And Missy has said quite often how sad she’d be to ruin your pretty face.

Luckily, your forefront thoughts are focused entirely on finding Missy and those questions are easily filed for later.

You quirk a teasing eyebrow at the Doctor as you slowly lean Yasmin over the edge, whose gone from trying to shove you away to clinging to you.

“Tell me the last place you saw Missy. Not the face before or after,” you demand. You see why Missy does this. It’s fun. And the Doctor’s face. You can literally see her doing the calculations in her head, thinking and dismissing plans as rapidly as swiping a tablet. 

The Doctor’s gaze turns to Yasmin, “If what you say is true, that Missy was-is getting better, then you won’t hurt Yaz. It’ll set Missy back by miles if her closest…” You scrunch your noise at the chosen measurement while she hesitates on what word to choose, “friend kills. Especially if it’s one of my fam.” 

“Oh Doctor,” you smile at her, razor sharp, “You were always her closest friend.” You shove Yasmin Khan out of the TARDIS door. 

The Doctor gasps and reaches out but Yasmin is gone before she takes a step.

You flash her the vortex manipulator strapped to your wrist, tap two fingers to your head and salute her as she gapes at you before swan diving out of the TARDIS doors. 

One button later and you’re safely on the ground. Cheap and nasty is right. The vortex leaves a bad taste in your mouth and colours aren’t quite computing right but your genetics saves you from the worst side effects. And one does not simply throw away a gift from the Mistress, second hand or no.

You hum as you brush yourself off. A job well done you’d say. Mission accomplished and you’d given at least one of the Doctor’s hearts an attack. Which means a funny story for your Mistress.

You type in the date and coordinates into the vortex manipulator. The TARDIS had exchanged them for delaying Yasmin’s fall. Whether it was to get closer to the ground or to have time to set up a way to save her you don’t know. But it’s interesting that she’s taken such an interest in a companion. Usually, she lets the bodies drop as they will. 

The possibilities make your head hurt after burning yourself through the vortex so you put that away as an interesting tidbit for Missy to mull over when she no doubt toddles back into the Doctor’s Vault. An annoying want she’s developed that you’ve decided to suffer through. Hopefully, you’ll be able to see her more often now that the Doctor, the angry eyebrows one, seems to be coming around. Although, her being let out more means less opportunities to sneak in.

Oh well, you’ll be seeing her soon anyway and there’ll be time to sneak a few stops on the way back to him.

You tap the screen, happily ignore the warning it gives you, and disappear with a flash.  

[cuppochino]

inspired off of @just-a-joey ‘s jewelry headcanons for itrapped and chance! itrapped doesn’t seem too happy about trading gold for silver…,,, 💔

(some personal hcs below cut!)

partly due to being ridiculously wealthy, I feel like chance’s love language is gift-giving! (platonic & romantic)

although i don’t think he’d realize how he’s giving wayy too much, thanks to itrapped being his closest friend at the time and always acting nonchalant about it….

so it’s a bit of a shock to the other friends he ends up making in future LMAO

(I like to think he’s the one buying all the matching outfits with elliot in-game, even though elliot is more than financially stable himself)

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[voidwelt]

welt acquires a charmony dove-shaped shadow (I find it amusing that Sunday seems to trail after Welt like a lost duckling post-2.7)

[hg-aneh]

how embarrassing

[dracooogone]

𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑩𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑭𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑫

[moon--kit]

RadioStatic Week Day 7 (Protecting the other)

[stylish-fish]

please hold the leash for him

[peachblossomlotion]

Some scenes for a very self indulgent video.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Can we have more Tim falls for Tucker's "spouse" Danny

I'm going to be honest with you: I originally intended this fic idea to be a comedy, but I couldn't figure out how to execute it when I attempted to write it, which is why it ended up in the 'From a fic I never wrote' pile. Now that I have attempted to write it out, it turned more into humor angst? Or, Tim being sad while in Danny's POV, it's him and Tucker committing marriage fraud. Hope the change isn't too bad!

Tim has to bite his tongue when Foley once again agrees to go out for drinks with the team, as everyone is heading out for the day. It was the third weekend in a row, and really, how could he leave his husband home alone on a Friday night so often?

If Tim were married to a man like Daniel Fenton, he would never miss dinner or a night in. He would certainly not waste it trying to kiss up to some higher up the way Foley was so blatantly doing.

Tim had half the mind to grab the mid-level employee by the shoulders and scream at him that a promotion wasn't worth his marriage failing. Make him realize what he had before it was all gone.

For all of Tim's jealousy that Tucker Foley was the one married to a man who literally walked out of Tim's dreams, he didn't dislike Foley at all.

The man was charming, eager to work, and excited to prove himself. He never slacked off; he always kept on top of his deadlines, was friendly with his coworkers, and was always on time. Really, the only trouble that Foley had caused was his rivalry with Tammy Johnson from Accounts.

Apparently, the two hated each other on sight, and there was no real reason for it. Tim had a personal theory that Foley's sarcasm clashed heavily with Johnson's no-nonsense way of work. Johnson was exceptionally good at her job, but she tended not to get along with her coworkers because she took everything too literally and often confused a joke for an insult.

Johnson also became incredibly defensive, building up a wall after a perceived offense was made, and spent the rest of her time working with the offender in a passive-aggressive manner.

She also made comments here and there that hinted at her less-than-accepting point of view of the LGBT+ community. Nothing that Tim could drag her to HR for, but certainly something to keep an eye on.

That's why he jumped in so quickly when he overheard Foley and her arguing over their disagreement about the stick tower design at the last all-staff training retreat. He had heard Johnson rip into Foley, taking apart every one of his suggestions, with complete condescension and a bit of mockery until Foley's tired voice rang out.

"Is it because I'm gay, Tammy?"

Tim thought he finally had a chance to get her in some kind of trouble, but Foley had shut that down quickly. After explaining that the question was more internet humor than anything Johnson could have said, Tim found that he couldn't make the guy stop talking. Foley, it seemed, tended to ramble when panicked or nervous.

Meeting and speaking with the CEO tended to make many employees nervous.

Foley babbled on and on about his husband, how they were childhood friends who turned into sweethearts and then married, living the dream in the big city of Gotham with such devotion and love. Tim couldn't help but extend an invitation to bring the man around the office. He did it mostly to watch Johnson's already tight lips press harder into a straight line.

Then he met Daniel Fenton, and he realized the rambles of Foley weren't told from the rose-colored lens of a man in love but a perfect description of his husband.

Fenton was gorgeous in a soft kind of way, like a first blooming, a lot quieter than his husband, but intelligence danced in his eyes just the same. He was quick with witty responses, sarcastic in a more teasing way than Foley's, and when he spoke of his passions, he all but seemed to glow.

The first time Tim spoke to Fenton, the man was lost in the hallway leading to Foley's old office. At the time, the entire IT department had been relocated three floors up due to a leaking pipe in the ceiling of the previous floor.

Foley had failed to inform his partner that the offices were in a temporary location, so he was more than happy to bring Fention to the correct location.

Fenton had gifted him with a dazzling smile once Tim offered to walk him in the elevator, and had easily chatted with Tim enough so that the young CEO had nearly burst a gut, laughing at the other man's jokes.

He told Foley to invite his husband to more company events, and the other must have taken that as permission to have Fenton around as much as possible. Tim had more encounters with Fenton when the man showed up with pastries for Foley's office, when the team would go out drinking, or even just seeing Danny hanging around the lobby waiting for Foley to finish.

Five months passed before Tim could not deny it any longer. He had fallen for Fenton, the husband of one of his employees.

It was torture how often Fenton was around, but it wasn't like he didn't have the time. Fenton didn't have a formal job.

Apparently, he lived off his inheritance from a distant uncle named Pariah Dark and was more than happy to be a house husband who did random hobbies. One of those hobbies included baking.

Tim thinks he had a crush on Fenton for a while up until then, but he might have actually fallen in love when he tried one of Fenton's homemade donuts. Like an idiot, he kept asking Foley to bring Fenton around, because in those few hours or minutes of networking (for that was what Foley was doing. The man was ambitious) Tim could admire him, could listen to his voice, and could pretend- in the darkest corners of his heart- that his love for Fenton wasn't wrong.

He knew it was. Foley may not be a friend, but Tim tried not to be too close to his employee, as that often caused more problems than not. However, Foley was someone he respected. He felt horrible having such thoughts about the man's husband, but his heart yearned for Fenton more than it had ever yearned for anyone else.

This was getting so bad that Tim was making up random events so that Foley would have a reason to bring Fenton to. He even had the team photo, from the last Wayne Enterprises fundraiser for charity, framed and placed on his desk because Fenton was in it, smiling at the camera.

Tim's pathetic excuse that the rest of the employees' families were also present for the fundraiser wasn't a good enough reason to spend hours upon hours wishing that his arm was thrown around Fenton's shoulders in that photo instead of Foley's.

Tim had to stop.

He chose to tell Steph about his feelings for Fenton on the request that she stop him from doing something stupid. As his friend, she vowed to help him out and slowly but surely held him to his word.

Tim hadn't seen Fenton in almost three months, since Steph had started camping out in his office, doing her online classes and keeping an eye on him so Tim couldn't run down the ten floors to IT just to check if Fenton was about. She reminded him that Foley didn't work directly under him and didn't need to have such a close relationship with him, so he limited his interactions with the man as well.

Steph was also the one who held him through his heartbreak. Tim was no cheater, but he was a fool in love with someone who was taken, and it hurt.

It hurt to know that he could never be the one Fenton smiled at, or the one that Fenton lay next to at night, or the one Fenton joked and laughed with, still friends in a marriage.

It hurt to know that a man like Foley, who was sending another "I'm going out with the team for drinks" text as he followed Rico to his car while Tim stood in the lobby watching them go, was the man that Fenton had chosen.

A few minutes go by of him just standing there, thinking of Fenton, all alone, waiting in some living room for a man who didn't even find the effort to call him.

This is stupid. You're being stupid. What does their marriage matter to you? Just go home, Tim. He thinks angrily to himself, opening his umbrella and walking out into the familiar Gotham rain.

The water splashes against the fabric with the same aggression as marbles falling onto concrete. One of Gotham's super storms. He grimaces, gripping the handle harder as he strides down to the dinner at the end of the street.

Despite Tim being able to drive nearly every form of transportation, he had failed to obtain a driver's license, partly due to his secret identity and partly because he was too lazy. As a result, Tim walked everywhere, took the train, or the bus to get around.

He didn't trust people to not kidnap him (attempt to at least), so he never hailed a taxi or used a ride app. Not after it happened five different times. The life of a Wayne could sometimes be too much.

Not that he was willing to walk to the train station or bus stop in this weather.

He'll have a coffee and some food to wait out the rain, but if the storm doesn't improve, he'll have to call the Manor and see if someone can come pick him up.

The door dings when he pushes it through, and a wave of warmth, chatter, and music passes over him. He stops at the stand holding up a sign that reads Please wait to be seated.

He folds his umbrella, shaking out some water, as a waitress comes rushing towards him.

Her hair is falling out a bit from her bun, and she seems a bit stressed, but he can clearly see why. Many people had the idea to hide from the storm in the dining room - not a single table or booth seemed to be free. Even the bar stools were all claimed.

"Hi there!" The waitress greeted with slightly apologetic eyes. "It's going to be a forty-minute wait."

"I don't mind. Can I wait in here?" He smiles, watching her shoulders relax. She must have had someone yell at her today about the wait time. He gets it.

Once he had to go under cover as a waiter himself, and it took every ounce of his Bat training to not throw a tray at some customers' faces. Especially the impatient ones.

"Yeah, of course." The waitress waves to a little area on the side of the door. There are no chairs, and there is barely enough room to stand, but it's better than nothing. "If you give me your name, I can let you know when a table opens up-"

"He can sit with me." A voice interrupts. A familiar voice. Tim's heart leaps in his chest before he can even turn his head in the direction of the man who had spoken.

Daniel Fenton waves at him from one of the tables, smiling widely, over a half-seated plate of pancakes. He's wearing a soft, white, woven sweater, which makes his eyes pop, and his hair is slightly damp, likely from being caught in the rain.

He looks like a painting come to life.

Tim's mouth goes dry.

"Are you okay with that, Sir?" The waitress asks him, but it's Fenton who answers.

"Yeah, of course. I don't think this storm is going to clear any time soon, so I may as well spend it with someone I know." Fenton laughs, and it kicks Tim's brain into action.

"It's fine," He mutters to the waitress who was frowning. "I would be totally fine with sharing that table."

More than fine. Far too fine in fact. The man is married. A voice that sounds a lot like Steph cautions in his head. He ignores it.

"Well, okay then." The waitress leads him to the table, pulling out his seat before handing him a menu she grabbed from the stand at the front. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Let me guess," Fenton grins, snapping a finger and pointing it at Tim, "A coffee, three creams, two sugars, and a bit of chocolate syrup?"

Surprised, Tim stammers, "Yes, that's right."

Fenton laughs gently before giving the waitress a cheeky little smirk that does horrible things to Tim's already buzzing heart. "He always takes his coffee like that. A creature of habit, you know?"

She flashes a dimple, writing down his drink order. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take the rest of your order."

Tim barely notices her walk away, too captivated by the way Fenton's hair seems to curl slightly when wet. "W-what are you doing here, Mr. Fenton?"

"Tuck and I were supposed to go out for dinner tonight, but he cancelled at the last minute. I got caught in the rain when leaving the lobby, so I figured I may as well have my own dinner." The man reveals casually, as if it were normal for a husband to bail on plans so carelessly.

Tim fights the urge to reach out his hand and place it on Fenton's, wanting to offer comfort in case he was hiding his hurt.

He couldn't stop the words that tumble out of his mouth, though. He winces at the offended tone in his voice. "Your husband cancelled plans on you last minute?"

"Tuck is forgetful. He probably forgot he made plans with me." Fenton shrugs, smile still in place. Tim's stomach flips as the man leans on one hand, attention trained entirely on Tim. "What about you? Why are you here?"

"Hiding from the rain, too. Too heavy to walk home in. "

Fenton frowns. "You don't have a car?"

"I don't have a license." Tim laughs, raising a brow at the disbelief on Fenton's face. "Never bothered to get one. Most people don't in a city, where you can walk or us a bus"

"That's crazy. Back home, everyone had a license. You never get anywhere without one." Fenton reveals.

"You and your husband are from Illinois, right?" Tim hopes Fenton didn't notice how his voice had turned slightly strained on the word' husband'.

"That's right. From the small in the middle of nowhere, Amity Park." Fenton picks up his fork, waving it around slightly. "We have like three restaurants, a small mall, and a park. That's the extent of entertainment, so you've got to drive to do anything. You're not planning on walking in that storm, are you?"

"No, I'll call someone to come pick me up later."

"Nah, that's okay. I'll give you a ride when we finish." Fenton replies easily, stuffing a piece of pancake in his mouth. "I won't take no for an answer. Got nothing better to do anyway."

Tim closes his mouth, having been in the process of denying the offer, and instead raises the menu to hide behind. A flutter goes through his stomach as he realizes that Fenton knows his coffee order because of how often he's seen Tim take it while visiting, and is willing to drive him home.

He doesn't think about Foley. It's a dangerous thing what he does think about, but by the time the waitress comes by to get Tim's order, Fenton has pulled him into a fascinating conversation of old cartoons, and Tim can't find it in himself to care.

Besides, he was only looking. There was nothing wrong with looking.

[wheneverfeasible]

“I didn’t know where else to go”

wc: 2k || rating: T+ || tags: referenced child abuse, blood and injuries, homophobia, bisexual steve, gay eddie, gay tommy, pre steddie, one-sided stommy, referenced cammy, angst with a hopeful ending || summary: Thrown bloodied and bruised out of his house by his father after being caught with another boy, Steve goes to the one guy in Hawkins whose queerness was an open secret. Set post S2.

Now on ao3.

💔💔💔💔

The irony was not lost on him.

In all honesty, he didn’t know what he was expecting, either. It was possible that he’d be laughed right out of the trailer park, or maybe Munson would just finish the job if the rumors weren’t true, or hell, maybe even if they were. It wasn’t like they were friends or anything.

Because Steve didn’t have any friends. Not really. Not anymore.

It had been stupid, yelling at them like that. Hell, he’d only just fully healed from Billy and the stupid tunnels, and then he had to go and throw all that recovery out the window by flaunting his sexuality in front of his father’s face.

Well. Okay. He hadn’t necessarily been flaunting it, but he hadn’t backed down when his dad demanded him refute the very clear evidence of his liking guys after his parents came home early from a trip to find him and Tommy getting hot and heavy in the sun room.

Tommy had come over, talking about how he and Carol were breaking up, how he was confused, and angry, and how he couldn’t get Steve out of his head ever since Carol implied marriage after graduation. He’d yelled at Steve, demanded to know what was so great about Nancy that Steve would throw away years of friendship for her, but there had been a suspicious shine in his eyes when he did so.

He’d grabbed Steve by the collar of his polo, had hauled him in close to spit hateful words in his face, and then they were kissing.

The thing was…Steve had always kind of known how Tommy had felt.

He always tried to make certain he never led Tommy on, knowing he didn’t return his friend’s feelings in that way, but…well. Nancy and him were broken up, his heart still fractured at him and his love being called bullshit, at Nancy maybe-maybe-not cheating on him, so he just…let Tommy.

He let Tommy kiss him, and he kissed him back, and he let that part of himself he’d kept secret for so long out at the feeling of the hard planes of Tommy’s chest, the strength in his arms as he held Steve close, the slight scrape of stubble along his jaw. He wasn’t supposed to like it, wasn’t supposed to want more of it, or want more of the thing growing between Tommy’s legs pressing into his hip.

But he loved it.

He just didn’t love Tommy.

It had just been so long since Steve felt wanted, felt appreciated, felt desirable. It was using Tommy, perhaps, but he didn’t think Tommy would mind. Not just then.

Of course, it was after they’d fallen back onto a lounger, mouths gasping into each other as hands roamed under shirts and towards belt buckles, hips moving and rocking against each other, when Steve’s parents had returned unexpectedly home.

Maybe, if Tommy had finally stood beside him for once when it mattered, maybe Steve could have found the ability to love him. But, just like before, Tommy abandoned him for his own self interests, running away back to the safety of Carol’s arms and socially acceptable heterosexuality, leaving Steve behind. And Steve? He was just so tired of never being enough, of having to hide a part of himself always, and he just stopped fighting it.

He was lucky to have had the time to put his shoes on, to grab his wallet and keys, before his father could do what he threatened to do. Then he was driving, driving from Loch Nora, driving from the place that should have been his home but never truly felt like one, driving from the only life he had ever known.

The only positive Steve could think of, mindlessly driving through town and trying to stem the flow of blood from the cut above his eye with shaking hands and unshed tears in his eyes, is that he knew his father wouldn’t go blabbing about having a queer for a son. Didn’t want that to get out around town, that’s for damn sure. Couldn’t let the town know just what a failure he was.

He didn’t know where to go.

Maybe, possibly, Nancy wouldn’t hate him if she knew. But her parents were Republicans and so far down on Reagan’s dick he was surprised they weren’t choking. It wasn’t like he could go to Jonathan’s either. Not after what he’d said about his family, and certainly not with how close his mother was with the chief of police. Hopper looked like he could hit a whole hell of a lot harder than his father did.

Couldn’t go to Henderson’s either. Steve had taken a real shine to that kid, but not only was this something he couldn’t lay at any of the kids’ feet, he also didn’t want to lose the one bright spot in his life lately with this secret.

There was no one he could turn to or trust, no one who would understand. No one who—

Oh. Wait.

Actually, there was one person who might understand. The only guy who everyone knew was a queer but no one said anything about, not if they wanted to keep getting easy access to cheap drugs. Plus, his whole look kind of intimidated people. The fact that Eddie Munson was as gay as the day was long was such an open secret around school that Steve wanted to hit himself for not thinking about it sooner.

Of course, now that he was here, idling in front of the Munson trailer, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t keep driving though. He was running out of gas, never having filled it up last after playing chauffeur for the little gremlins, and it was getting harder and harder to see with the blood dripping into his already wet eyes.

His hands were shaking, making him jerk the wheel more than he would like, and his breathing was growing erratic. He might be having a panic attack, he realized.

And his head fucking hurt. Among other places.

God, what if Munson couldn’t help him? What sort of help was he even expecting? A band-aid? Munson hated him, it didn’t matter if he was a fellow queer. Munson might be the one to let the whole town know what a hypocrite he was. Munson might take those stupid gaudy rings and finish him off. Cite gay panic and get rid of not just an annoying jock, but tarnish the name of a family that continually looked down on people like him.

This was such a stupid idea, and Steve couldn’t catch his breath, and where could he even go, what could he do, what—

A sharp knock on the driver side window startled Steve out of his spiraling panic, shooting his head up from where he’d been pressing it into his steering wheel harder than a busted face should be, his jaw aching from the bruising and his gritted teeth. It took a moment for his vision to clear, hastily wiping at his face and eyes to see better, knowing he was probably smearing red around but unable to do anything else in that moment.

Munson was outside his car, trying to peer in through the glass that Steve realized had begun fogging up from the heat of his panic in the chill air of the approaching winter.

“Harrington?” Munson's muffled voice asked in perplexity. “What the hell are you doing here? I don’t sell at home.”

Right. Drugs. As much as a joint sounded heavenly in that moment, it wasn’t like Steve could afford it now. He couldn’t afford anything. He wondered how soon it would take for his father to cut him off from the family bank account.

He should leave. He should reverse and get the hell out of here. Except he was out of gas, out of breath, and out of any other option. With shaky fingers, Steve turned off the car and plucked at the handle to push the door open, Munson taking a large step back to avoid getting hit.

“I told you, I’m not selling toda—”

Munson’s words cut off with a sharp inhale, and though Steve didn’t have the balls to look Munson in the eyes at the moment, he raised his gaze to somewhere near the older boy’s ear as he carefully climbed out of the car, holding the edge of the door for support, wincing and grimacing at the painful tug at his ribs.

Steve forced his breathing under enough control to clear his throat, flicking his tongue over his split lip. Only then did he dare to glance briefly at Munson’s face before dropping his gaze again. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he murmured, free arm held protectively over his midsection. He probably shouldn’t have been driving at all. It was a miracle he hadn’t hit something.

There was silence from Munson, causing Steve to hitch his shoulder up slightly. After a long moment, the other boy let out a harsh sigh. “Hargrove kick your ass again, Harrington?” he asked, sounding almost amused. Steve didn’t blame him.

“No,” he croaked, feeling the shame wash over him. “My dad did.”

Munson jerked at that, enough that Steve flinched slightly back, but a look at the other’s face showed he didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know if he should believe that. In for a penny, in for a pound. Steve cleared his throat.

“He caught me,” he said quietly, never having had to say any of this out loud before. He wondered briefly if he had slipped into another dimension with Munson being the first person he was willingly coming out to, revealing this secret he’d known for years and had kept so close to his chest. It didn’t matter now. “He caught me with another guy.”

He could tell the moment the words and their meaning landed. Munson sucked in another sharp breath, all the minuscule movements that a body naturally does stilling as the older boy froze.

And remained frozen.

Steve cringed as the silence continued. Stupid, really. He was so fucking stupid. Why the hell had he thought it a good idea to come here? Sure, it was true that he didn’t have anywhere else to go, but…whatever. This was stupid. He was stupid.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, making a move to turn back towards his car and get in. He’d go. He’d get back in his car and just, he didn’t know, drive into a ditch or something. Maybe if he hit a tree he could explain away the injuries that way so he wouldn’t have to admit to anyone else what a fucking failure he was. Though, he knew his father wouldn’t pay off the hospital bills, and he’d rather his father not know where he’s at at the moment.

Why couldn’t he do anything right?

A hand clasped his upper arm before he could fully get in the car again, however, causing him to tense and freeze up before Munson encouraged him to turn back around. He looked uncomfortable, maybe even more uncomfortable than Steve did, but he took a deep breath and jerked his head back towards his trailer.

“Why don’t you come in, Harrington. Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we can figure things out from there.” His eyes trailed to Steve’s car. “Anyone gonna be looking for you?”

Steve withheld a grimace, shaking his head. “No,” he quietly admitted. “I think they’re done with me.”

Munson gave a sharp nod. “All right then. You hungry? I got a frozen burrito with your name on it.”

Steve swallowed, his eyes darting between Munson’s own. He was looking for any sort of malice, any sort of joy at Steve’s predicament, but all he could find was a gentleness he never would have expected, a sincerity that Steve…Steve didn’t think he had ever experienced before, not towards himself.

Something tight and ugly eased slightly in Steve’s chest. He gulped, sniffed even though it hurt his nose, and felt for the first time that maybe things would be okay. At least a little bit.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he quietly murmured, shutting his car door and locking it behind him.

Eddie Munson, Freak of Hawkins, smiled gently back and slid an arm around Steve to help him towards the open trailer door.

“Anytime, Stevie.”

💔💔💔💔

I forgot I started writing this ages ago and decided to see about finishing my own version of the “I didn’t know where else to go” trope lol

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A flash and it's born, a flash and it fades.

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